Break Point
by ChattyCat
Summary: Violet Kyle finally breaks out of her mother's overprotective wing, but then is thrust into her father's world of superheroes and supervillains. But when her metagene is activated, she has to make a difficult choice. What side will she choose, and will it be the right one?
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! :) So... this is my first Young Justice story, well, actually, I've been trying to write this story for about... a year and a half. I started and restarted so many times, but now I've finally gotten into it! Enjoy!**

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"_Earthquake!_ This is not a drill, under your desks!" Ms. Williams instructs. Chaos erupts. My classmates scramble to find safety, as we could feel the very ground beneath us quiver. I push my backpack out of the way and crawl under, seating myself on the blue tile floor, and my coal black hair is just barely trailing on the ground, though it usually rests on the small of my back. I tuck my head down because I see the ancient gum stuck from over the years and I close my eyes because it's really claustrophobic. I can hear some test tubes shatter as they hit the floor and textbooks rocking onto the floor. The climax of the quake throws the double doors to our science room open and I hold the leg of my desk down so it won't topple over. I grip my jean jacket and rub the fibers fiercely. It's like how people grind their teeth or wring their thumbs when they're nervous. I can hear the girl who sits across from me whimper in fear. It's over. My teacher does the protocol, "Is everyone alright? Everyone safe?" General murmurs of agreement are pass over the class, so my teacher continues, "Alright, follow me so we can take a headcount at the front of the school. Single file, and walk calmly!" The rest of my class follows suit but I just sit there. We're on the bottom floor of a three story school. Campoa Bay High School isn't cheaply made, but a single fault in the foundation and my entire science class would've been crushed. _I _would've been crushed, "Violet, get in line."

"I- uh, yeah." I crawl out and grab my backpack, even though we're advised not to bring anything along, and join the line as we troop down the hall. The first in line pushed the doors and the rest of us follow him outside, where it's abnormally sunny and warm for a March Wednesday. About four or five of the other classes are already neatly arranged and our class sets up camp on one end. I'm in the back, and since our school is on the hill, I can see the whole town up until the docks and the bay. Places I've never even been. My mother runs I tight ship. I think either she's afraid of me being badly influenced or me seeking out my dad. I don't even care about him. After fourteen years of him not trying to contact me, why should I? But mom cares enough for the both of them, plus every other parent on earth, and then some. I've never been to a bonfire, I've never been to a slumber party, and I've never been to a school dance. I think we live in Campoa Bay because it's made up of city and beach, a mixture of what I love, at least from a distance, but Mom can still make her visits to Gotham city, since it's only an hour away.

Just thinking about it gets me pissed. I'm fourteen years old, for God's sakes. I think it's about time I had my first kiss. Going over all of these passed up chances makes me so angry I just want to…

And I'm doing it. Everyone is so distracted by the natural disaster that it's the perfect time to slip out of the crowd and head downtown. I keep my head down and brush through a few social groups and start making my way through an alley. It seems odd that the teachers could be so completely occupied, but I won't question my stroke of good luck. The bricks are slick since it rained last weekend and I drag my feet through a shallow puddle, slightly muddying my studded black Converse. I reach the edge of where the actual city part begins. I don't think I've ever been anywhere unaccompanied. It's liberating. Where should I got first? I don't even know where to start.

I pull out my hamburger wallet from my black skinny jean pocket and thumb through its' contents. Crappy ID photo, library card, crumpled phone number from that guy in Spanish, and… eight dollars. Time to go crazy. Well, it'll be crazy for me no matter what I do.

Exiting the alley, I view the array of shops and restaurants in my reach. Maybe I'll finally try sushi, or… or go to _Lulu's Clothing, _or go to the beach, or the art gallery, or- I'm getting way ahead of myself.

I really didn't think this through. If Mom finds out or suspects anything, I'll be crushed under the severity of the punishment… or she might even pull me out of school. That's how serious she is about keeping me… safe, I suppose is how she would phrase it.

But this is what I _need. _Some time to myself, some time to be a normal teenage girl. Mom may _think _she's helping me, but I'm not happy. I need to do this. I need to try.

After rationalizing my rebelliousness, I make my way down the street. My stomach is twisting in nerves and excitement, and I can't help but smile. I can do anything today!

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My day was, summed up in a word, awesome. And not that middle school "awesome" that's used so frequently, the awesome as in I was in awe. I had my first window-shopping experience, went to _In-n-Out, _which I had heard so much about, and now I'm sitting on the beach with my shoes and jacket off, with my pant legs rolled up and my white lace shirt speckled with sand. I'm propped up by my elbows, making pictures out of the clouds and smelling the ocean. I pull my phone out and check the time. Oh, _hell_. It's fifteen minutes past the time I was supposed to be home! I throw my shoes and jacket into my backpack and whip it onto my shoulder, spraying sand onto the couple adjacent to me. They look pissed but I don't have time to apologize. Mom usually calls twenty minutes after I get home, to make sure I'm there, and then gets home twenty minutes later. I could either run back to the apartment or take the bus. If I take the bus, I have to pay. So I start to sprint. I sprint through the boardwalk, my feet burning on the concrete, wincing every step. Why should I have to race home? I should just let her discover my absence, let her believe the worst. But I don't, because I'm spineless.

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It takes me twenty-five minutes to reach my block because I hit the "after school rush," getting stuck behind some couple who were sucking each other's faces. I decide to climb into my room the back way, because maybe if Mom's home I can pretend I'm asleep. There's an iron ladder in the alley behind my apartment, but it's up way higher than I can reach on the ground. I get a running head start and launch myself into the air, barely reaching the end bar. The ladder pulls down roughly, making a groaning noise as it does. I let go when it finishes and wipe the rust on my pants. Once I climb to the top I realize that my window is still locked, my fear escalates to pure panic.

So I force my elbow through the glass window.

I can feel the shards pierce my flesh, but at this point I don't even care. I wrap my jacket around my hand and brush away the leftover pieces and climb through. My room is sky blue with all white furniture, too bright for my taste, but I don't think too much about it right now. I open my door tentatively, listening for sounds of life. Nothing. I throw myself onto my twin bed in relief. Smiling, I go to sleep. Even the glass wedged into my elbow can't distract me from the bliss I felt today. Selena Kyle can't keep me locked up anymore.

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**Tada! Surprising heritage, eh? Guess who the father is. Guess. You can see _chibi pictures _of Violet, (under the file Sage) Kid Flash, and Artemis on my DeviantArt page. :3 My account name is ChattyKat, or you can get a link from my profile page. Thanks for reading, and please leave a review! See you in a couple days for the next chapter in _Break Point. P.S. I own Violet Kyle and Campoa Bay._**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey readers! Welcome to _Break Point, Chapter 2! _I've been enjoying writing these chapters, which is why this chapter is coming so quick! (: Enjoy the chapter!**

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Lying has become easier and easier. It's been three weeks since my first downtown adventure, and since then I have gone and experimented with new places every school day. I told Mom that I started going to homework club, and after _so _much begging, she let me go. I almost lost everything when the school called, looking for me after the earthquake scare, but I convinced her that I was the last one out of the classroom, so they must not have counted me. The glass shards stuck in my arm after breaking into my own house took a lie that was a little more complicated; I told her that when the earthquake started, a science beaker fell next to me, and that they offered me medical attention, I lied and said that it wasn't too serious and I didn't want to be a burden. My life is spinning into a spiderweb of palter.

I roll my fingers on the desk and stare at the analog clock that seems to be moving backwards, just to make me want to get out of school even more. The anticipation is unbearable. If Mr. Grecko says "guys" in one more sentence, I swear I'll toss myself out of the window. The clock says 5:00 PM, but the bell is either waiting to torture me or forgot to come to work today. The teacher has gone back to his desk and abandoned his job, but he's doing the teacher-thing where they say we need to stay in the classroom. The chimes signaling our release ring, and all hell breaks loose. This usually happens at the end of detention. I didn't do anything serious, I just… maybe… dislocated someone's arm. We were playing football in PE, and being called a skinny bitch for the third time in a fifteen minute time span pushed me a _teensy _bit over the edge, so I flipped her. Like, literally flipped her onto her back. The PE teacher, to cover his own negligence in watching his class, blamed it on a tackle gone wrong. Lucky for me. Mom didn't seem too mad; in fact, she seemed almost amused. I think I felt worse.

Dinner starts at six in my house, so if I take a leisurely walk through town and down the beach, I can still be home without pushing the limit.

I glide out of the overly-heated room and advance into the chilly gray quad. I'm wearing my black bomber jacket and pine green collared shirt, with black shorts, rose scattered tights, and black combat boots. I can feel goosebumps rising on my arms and legs, so I power-walk to get my blood moving. The campus is relatively small, since everyone in this city attends private school, but I happen to attend the leftover school. Campoa Bay High School is the potato skin of New Jersey, and Gotham is the bacon bits.

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I cross the busy street which is plugged with after-work traffic, and wave apologies for stopping traffic. The beach is down through two alleyways and down three blocks, getting there will take about fifteen minutes. I cross through the first two blocks with ease, and turn right into the first alleyway. Since the sun is beginning to set, shadows sashay throughout the backstreet. I can barely make out some garbage dumpsters and cardboard box or two. It's eery, and I begin walking but I'm distracted by my phone vibrating. It's an old, black AT&T flip phone. I'm surprised it even holds a charge. I can't decipher its message because the light is dim, so I turn my back on the alley to find a better viewpoint.

_Click. _

You know that surge of fear you get when an insect buzzes by your ear? In that moment, both of my ears stung with the pain of that situation. Except for I knew I couldn't cover my ears, lest a _much _more severe pain would shock my body.

"Take out your wallet and your cell phone and hand them over, if you don't want me to blow your brains all over the wall." I begin to heed his words. What else was I to do? My hands are shaking as I retrieve the items he requested. My hands sweat, and my amusing wallet slides from my grip onto the asphalt, "What the hell are you trying to pull, bitch?!" I mumble something resembling an apology and begin to bend over to retrieve it. Then I feel a searing throb ripple through my back, and I lay sprawled on the gritty ground. After immobilizing me with his forceful kick, the man proceeds to snatch my wallet and tug at my shorts. I know what he's thinking. I know what he wants. I kick my legs frantically and try to make some noise, but he sits on my back and covers my mouth. I manage to bite his thumb, and in my brief moment of freedom, I scream.

_Crack._

The sound of the gunshot only adds to the situation. I no longer have any energy to scream or struggle. I'm lucky it's only my shoulder, but it's not as comforting as I'd hoped. I suppose hitting a vital organ would have been _way _worse. How kind of him to avoid killing me; note the sarcasm.

_Crunch._

Had he tripped? My eyes are closed, but I can hear the sound of scraping gravel. His weight is lifted, and his knee is no longer digging into my back. With my last bit of strength, I roll over to investigate. My assailant is limply crumpled on the ground, and my hero, clothed in black and wearing a cowl, is none other than Batman, of Gotham City. The combination of being saved by a superhero and being shot is a bit too much, and I drift into unconsciousness.

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**Whaddya think? (: A major character introduced in ****every chapter, eh? And now for a serious matter. For the first chapter, I got many follows and favorites, but no reviews. Reviews are what keeps me writing, and without reviews I don't really have any motivation to write. If you like this story, take thirty seconds to leave a review, to keep me movin'. (: Thanks for reading!**

**~ChattyCat**

**P.S. Check out my DeviantArt page, ChattyKat, and see my new pictures of Aqualad and Robin, along with my less recent ones, Kid Flash and Artemis. (All in Chibi form!) (:**


	3. Chapter 3

**Welcome to chaptah three of ****_Break Point_****. Some excitement in this chapter, but the next chapter will have ****_waaayyy _****more drama. Enjoy!**

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You know that feeling of confusion and the drop in your stomach when you wake up somewhere that you didn't fall asleep? That's what I feel right now.

What the hell is this place? There are stalactites and stalagmites decorating this… this cave. And there's also a guy sewing up my arm. That added a bit to the situation. I can't remember what happened. Who shot me? Why can't I feel the wound? I'm lying on what appears to be a steel operating table. Who gets hurt so often that they have this thing hanging around? Before the surgeon sees that I'm awake, I close my eyes, in case someone talks and I learn some information.

"You don't have to pretend, I'm not going to harm you." The man informs me, his voice heavy with the remnants of a British accent. I stop my charade and take a good look at him. He's older, what's left of his hair a chalky gray, and liver spots parade on his skin. He's clean-shaven except for a tiny trimmed mustache, and is wearing some sort of butler's uniform, looking very professional. He pulls out some shears and snips the black thread that has just sewn me back together.

"All done, good as new." That's my cue. I leap off the table and sprint up the stone stairs that circle up to my escape. Skipping every other step still takes me an awkward amount of time to reach the top. Once I do, and am out of his sight, I survey the cave, or at least what I can see of it. There's either a massive television or some sort of master computer built into the north wall, covering a good ten yards. It's pretty big, but I don't have time to marvel. Running up those stairs strained my shoulder, and I have no idea how to work the door in front of me. There's wood, but no doorknob. With my good arm, I push on the supposed exit, and nothing happens. I can hear the old man yelling something, either to me or on the phone, and the pitter-patter of his ascent. I push even harder, and finally something gives, and the door falls heavily forward. Oh, it's not a door, it's a… grandfather's clock. Is this somebody's _house? _I've just walked into a study. I leap over the clock and I get snagged on the corner, but I shake it off with only a tiny tear in the fabric.

Wait, what in God's name am I wearing? Wear are my _damn rose tights?! Who the _hell_ undressed me?! _I'm now wearing… male sweat pants and a loose fitting _Quiksilver _muscle tee, barefoot. If I put my hair up and took off my makeup I could pass as a boy.

Okay, okay. I just need to get out of here, I'll focus on that later. The study is… legitimately a study. The books are filled books I've heard of, the globe at first glance seems pretty accurate, though I've never been great at geography, and the desk has actual papers. I realize that I'm tip-toeing, when I should be sprinting. That old man will be racing up behind me any minute.

I open the expensively finished red oak door and make my way down a hallway that's lined with overpriced vases and an egyptian carpet that could pay me through college. Whoever lives here is either a master thief or a master philanthropist. There are doors on my left and right, but I'm looking for a common room, with a coffee table and double doors that lead to freedom.

Bingo. Oh, God, who says "bingo"? Well, anyway, I found my target. It's an elegant foray, with two staircases on opposite ends, and marble floors that must have cost a fortune. Two baby blue love seats face across from each other and a magnificent chandelier pulls the room together. Most importantly, the grand doors with the massive handles. I rush toward them in relief, but I hear a click from the other end. Someone's unlocking the door! There's a broom closet about three feet away, so I choose that as my hiding place. There are long, luxurious, fur coats that are easy enough to conceal myself in. The man I ran from comes shuffling in, he's too old to run, is greeted by the newcomer.

"Alfred, Bruce called me. Is everything alright? Is she still unconscious?" The newcomer asks, while taking off his coat. Oh, hell. I can barely see through a crack in the door, my bottle green eyes wide in anticipation. I never use the phrase _"sea-green." _Too cliché.

"Master Dick, she got away from me! I was stitching up the bullet-wound and she-"

"Bolted? She's a Wayne, all right." The man, apparently named _Dick, _finished. What does he mean? A _Wayne. _He's extremely handsome, with dark hair and a muscular build. Alfred, the butler, looks scared out of his wits. I suppose I look the same way, crouched with my arms around my knees, quivering. Oh, no. He's going to put his coat on the rack. I'm frozen in fear. Who are these people, really? Why am I here? Why am I hiding in a closet? I should be at home, with Mom. I wish I could remember what happened, "Don't worry, Alfred, I'll find her." Yeah, but you won't catch me. He opens the door, and I sit there vulnerably like a wounded animal. Oh, wait, that's basically what I am, "Uh…" He sort of gapes. Allow me to finish that thought for you, sir.

So I kick 'im in the crotch. I can't run out the door with the butler blocking the way, so I need to make my way upstairs. After pushing the temporarily impaired man out of my path, I choose the staircase on the left. I am left-handed, after all. The soft marble has no traction, so I imagine I look something like a person who attempts to run up a "down" escalator. Then his knee is in my back and my hands are locked behind me, and I'm completely immobilized. And then it all comes back to me, the memories are flowing in; this exact same situation happened what feels like… a day ago. His knee is in the same place as the mugger, and my spine feels like it's gonna snap, and I'm pretty sure my stitches just popped. My only question is: What happened to Batman? Is _this _guy the Dark Knight?

"Gotcha."

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**Everybody love the bit of Dicky in this chapter? :) He's gonna be a ****_prime _****character in future chapters, so get excited! I really appreciate my readers and reviewers, and if I get some reviews, I might throw in some more of Dick... or maybe Nightwing in the next chapter! And maybe Tim. But no promises for Tim. So leave a review!**

**P.S. I own Violet Kyle. :) Also, go check out my new story, ****_Replaced, _****and my DeviantArt page, which has chibis of the original team. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey readers! Sorry to make you wait, but I had all of my electronics taken away for over a week. So anyways, welcome to Chapter 4 of ****_Break Point. _****Get ready for draaaama.**

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In all of those old movies where the damsel, whose makeup happens to be immaculate, is tied to a bed or a tree or whatever, the bull that the movie producers feed the viewers is that some big hunk'll break into the kidnapper's lair and take everyone out with one swing of his muscly arm, and rescue the beauty.

I've been tied to the railing of the staircase for three hours, my makeup is so thin that you can see my freckles, which I try too hard to conceal, and the only "hunk" I've seen is the guy who reopened my stitches, which kinda ruined his appeal. Not that I'm some damsel.

It's been pretty quiet since the butler, Alfred I assume, stitched me up for the second time. I think maybe either they forgot about me, or they're just waiting for me to make a move so they can tackle me _again. _I've concluded that people actually live in this house, because a kid who looked a little younger than me ran by about an hour earlier, but he doesn't know I spotted him.

Something clicks on the front door; someone's coming in. I tense up in anticipation. Is it the "Bruce" guy that the hunk was talking about? Bruce is a tough name. He's probably got an eyepatch and drives an SUV. He opens the door, but his back is to me because he's latching it. He's buff. Like, amazingly, professional boxer buff. He's clad in a charcoal black suit and wing tipped shoes, both of which match his messy hair. He turns and I get the full view of his face. He's somewhat pale, but ruggedly handsome.

"Alfred, I-" He stops as he spots me, and I scowl and clench my fists, the ropes tightening around my raw wrists, _"Alfred!" _He calls angrily. The butler scurries into the room. They speak in hushed tones, and I can't make out any comprehensible words. They both seem distressed. The man dismisses Alfred, exasperated. He lets out a little huff of air and makes his way to the bottom of the stairs and rests his hands on the railing. He looks at me in silence for a moment. I feel embarrassed, or something related to that. Like I'm some animal in a zoo.

"What?!" I yell, infuriated. He raises an eyebrow. Is he _amused? _God, what an ego. Apparently I'm of no concern to him; he pulls out the latest iPhone, sleek and black, and places a call as he leaves the room. I grit my teeth. I will _not _be ignored. I shake my arms violently, rattling the railing, and let out a grunt of pain. My wrists are gonna rub straight to the bone before the ropes snap. My legs are still free, so I kick at the railing and something crashes upstairs. At least I'm making progress.

"Let me out!" I scream, to no one in particular. My throat and tongue are dry and my stomach whines for food. I feel like a prison inmate. Or an Arkham patient. I hear a click from where the butler left to, wherever that is, but it's the hunk who appears. Apparently my stomach groaned loud enough for him to hear, because he's carrying a sandwich and a glass of water. He climbs the stairway until he's two steps below me, and clears his throat.

"I can untie one of your hands if you promise to behave." He bargains. I stare at him in disgust.

"I'm a vegetarian." I spit. He tilts his head.

"Vegetarians still need to hydrate." He states. After a minute of a stare match, he sighs and approaches. I pull back about as far I can, which is only about six inches, "C'mon, you lost a lot of blood."

"Where am I!? Where's the guy who saved me!?" I burst. He says nothing and undoes one of the knots. At least I'm partially free. He hands me the cool glass, which I'm craving so desperately. So my choice is to either quench my thirst or escape; easy decision. I kick one of his shins and he stumbles backwards a few steps, surprised. While he's distracted, I slam the glass on the railing and use one of the shards to work away at the rough rope. In a matter of seconds I'm free, but it's not over yet. He regains his composure and is ready on the defense. Hearing the sound of commotion, the fancy guy races into view.

_Okay, this is hopeless._ I realize, but I know this is my only chance of escape. I drop the shard, which sliced my hand a little, and I throw myself over the railing. It's not as high as I had expected, but it's not as low as I had hoped. My ankle twists and I swear I can hear a crack. There's no way I'll make it now. In a last pitiful attempt, I drag myself nearer the door, but I'm intercepted by Mr. Fancy. He throws me over his shoulder, and I flail my legs helplessly. He turns to his partner.

"Grab some actual cuffs this time, and go start the Rover." He orders with a tinge of accusation embedded in his words, and I'm left hanging over his shoulder like a little kid. I mean, honestly, the only more embarrassing position could've been bridal style. His partner obeys wordlessly, or at least to my knowledge. I'm not exactly in an attentive situation. I hear a latch click and we're both out the door; me pounding my fists on his back and him taking it with a begrudging patience. He's walking towards the car and before he clicks the lock, Hunk walks up with a birthday gift of handcuffs. Yippee. Restricted once again, I admit defeat and cease my frantic motions. Mr. Fancy sets me on the immaculately clean leather seats and slams the door, narrowly missing my foot. I'm lying on my side with my face squished up against the back of the seat, and the two men take their places, with Mr. Fancy driving and Hunk riding shotgun. I can't kick anything or else I'm certain my ankle will snap, and if I so much as move my fingers my palm will gush blood. Not really my idea of a typical Thursday afternoon, but hey, at least I'm still outta the house. I guess Mom was right, the worst things _do _happen when you're out of your home. The three of us sit in silence for the majority of the trip, until my kidnappers begin to argue about directions. At first they speak too quietly for me to distinguish anything of interest, but as men who refuse to ask for help, their voices raise.

"It's Crawford. It's _Crawford._" One insisted.

"If we take Crawford, we'll just go on the freeway. It's Cinema." The other argued.

"There's Crawford! Turn left, _turn left!_" One screams. Suddenly we're careening left and I slide down the seats, my ankle hitting the door. I hold back a scream, and what comes out is like a squeal, barely audible. For kidnappers, these guys are pretty comical. Five minutes pass, with every part of my body throbbing, and our journey comes to a close. The car is shut down and they approach me on both sides. It's this time that the hunk heaves me over _his _shoulder, and I realize where they've brought me; but how did they know?

Home.

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**Eh? Whaddya think? Hope you can figure out who all of these****_ unnamed characters _****are. Anyway, read and review! Much appreciated!**

**~ChattyCat**

**P.S. I do not own Young Justice, but I own this story and any original characters that may appear. (And I own Campoa Bay, for good measure.)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey again! Sorry for the long wait, but now welcome to ****_Chapter 5 _****of ****_Break Point. _****Enjoy!**

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So by allowing myself to be forcefully dragged up to apartment 3b, or home, I am essentially relinquishing any and all personal information from now until I'm eighty. There's nothing I can really do at this point; I'm positive my ankle's shattered, my hand is dripping thick, scarlet blood, and I'm pretty sure there's still some glass lodged into my elbow from my first excursion. My luck is… lacking, to say the least. I refuse to lose consciousness _again_, for fear of waking up in that mansion again and accumulating more injuries, but it's a tough choice. Mental safety or physical safety? Death or death? Hmm… tough choice.

Even if I were to put up some sort of fight or oppose in any way, I would probably crack my skull, so I just decide to make it much, much harder. I lie limply in Mr. Fancy's arms, letting him take on the burden of… well, me. His arms are hooked securely under mine, and my bare feet drag heavily on the asphalt. The other man is fishing something out of the massive car, so I'm left staring at my feet and my messily polished toes. I'm left to do my own pedicures, unfortunately.

If someone were to approach this situation with no prior knowledge, it would appear as though these men were stashing a dead body, who happens to be me. Then I realize two things: First, I've been going about this all wrong. Second, these guys are really, really dumb.

"Oh help! Please, someone help me! I'm being kidnapped!" I shout condescendingly, eyeing the older one with a look of snide. Some passing pedestrians look down the alley in alarm, "Oh, please! Please help me!"

"No, no! I'm her… babysitter! She just doesn't want to go to bed." The older one explained, panicked.

"I'm fourteen, _babysitter._" I hiss.

"Violet, play nice." I turn to see who spoke, though I can already guess; Mom. She's in her Eeyore pajamas, with a messy bun containing her jet black hair, and dark circles under her eyes. She probably hasn't slept. How long've I been gone?

"Selina." Mr. Fancy acknowledges. Mom remembers her manners, uncrossing her arms. Um… back up. How do they know each other?

"Please, come in." Mom invites. Oh yeah, let's crank up the hospitality for the guys who cuffed me and threw me in the back of their car, "And if you would untie my daughter." _Finally._

Hunk retrieves a key from his jean pocket and releases me. I rub my raw wrists and glare.

"Uh, Mom? Mind explaining a couple things to me?"

"Not now, Violet. I'm very disappointed in you." _Really? _She _really_ cares more about a few sneak outs than me going _missing? _Or does she know more about where I've been than I do?

The adults start chatting and enter the building, leaving the alley, and me an' Hunk, behind. I huff in vexation. Hunk seems to think this is the perfect time to "catch up." I begin to follow Mom when Hunk approaches and walks alongside me.

"Sorry 'bout them. Bruce is always kind of cold." He laughs awkwardly.

"And you're so warm and fuzzy." I reply sarcastically. I wince in pain as my foot grazes the street. He rushes to my aid, but I glare so fiercely that he leaves me be.

"Look, this isn't how I wanted to meet you-"

"And _why _would I have wanted to meet _you_?"

"I-I… I can see this is a family matter. I'm gonna go wait in the car." He stutters. Uh… what? Whatever. I climb the five stone steps to enter the complex, hobbling into the elevator. I lean against the metal bar that lines the walls. _Ding! Ding! Ding! _Third floor. Only, like, five more yards to our apartment. Maybe I can make it. I shakily limp towards my home, my left foot dragging on the cheap blue and white Commercial carpet. I gasp in relief as I reach the door, letting all my wait rest on the copper doorknob. I breath heavily, as if I just ran a marathon. _Love _the way Mom's so concerned. Wait… I can hear her talking inside. I press my ear to the door, listening intently.

"I said she was acting _different! _I didn't say she needed _Daddy _to take her for the weekend!"

What?

No. No. _No! _He's _not. _He can't be! That… that jackass? _No! _He cuffed me! _He kidnapped me! No!_

I'm blocking out their arguing. My… my parents arguing. My eyes tear up. I'm hyperventilating. _No! _This can't be. I grip my hair with both hands, salty tears stream down my cheeks.

Something… ignites inside of me. Like fire. Like fury. I stand. There's no more pain in my ankle. I read somewhere once that adrenaline can block out pain. My eyes are clouded but I manage to make it down the stairs, and return outside. I sob, standing alone on the sidewalk. _No!_

I've imagined that moment since as long as I can remember. I pictured him showing up at our door, me instinctively knowing who he was, and us embracing. I envisioned us taking long walks, speaking about our lives. I visualized him having some excuse for being gone all of these years; maybe he'd be an explorer, or an international spy. _That's _what kept me from getting depressed. _That's _what kept me from hating him. But now… now I realize he's just a selfish nobody. A Dead-Beat Dad.

I can't breath. I cover my mouth with both hands. _No!_

"Violet, what's wrong?" I look up to see Hunk… or Dick, I suppose, staring.

"Go ask my _father_." I choke out, and start running. I'm still numb. I'll keep running until I hit the ocean. I'll keep running until I can't. But I know. _Yes. _He's my father. The guy I've thought of for years.

That man in there may be my _father, _but he'll never be my _Dad._

* * *

_**Gasp! **_**Well, more excitement next time! Remember to ****_read and review! _****Pretty please? Pleeaase? :)**

**~ChattyCat**

**P.S. I don't own Young Justice, but I do own this story an any original characters or places or things or anything.**


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